


Pass the Time

by Skalidra



Series: Earth-3 Storyline [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Forever Evil (Comics), Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Earth-3, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Universe, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Jason hasn't been on a stakeout with Dick since things changed, and he became a possession of Nightingale in every way that matters. Things are a lot different than they used to be, especially once Dick gets bored with just sitting and waiting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Defiance1031](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defiance1031/gifts).



> Hello! This one is a dual purpose thing. Firstly, it's an anonymous prompt I got a while back, the text of which was: 'I wish you would write a fic where Earth 3!Dick and Jason are on a mission for Bruce, pre-Jason's death, and end up having inappropriate sexy times while waiting for the target (bonus Bruce knows about it and is forever exasperated by the pair of them, but hey at least they did get the job done)'.
> 
> Secondly, a friend was feeling the need for some Nightingale, so I picked this prompt out and obliged. (Enjoy!)

Dick’s fingers are tapping against the stone of the low wall they’re crouched behind, the rest of him relaxed and leaning against it, head tilted over the side of it to look down at the alley below. He’s never had the pleasure — misfortune? — of being on a stakeout with Dick before. At least, not since things… changed.

Dick’s been split between Gotham and Bludhaven lately, and they don’t see each other nearly as much. Consequently, every time Dick comes to Gotham, and they have any free time, he ends up pinned to one surface or another. Screaming, usually, unless Dick’s having fun making him be quiet. It’s… It’s a hell of a difference, compared to when the closest he could get to the great _Nightingale_ was staring in awe at him from across a room. That has _definitely_ changed.

They haven’t had the time this visit. Dick got back just a few hours ago, and they've been down in the Roost the whole time. Dick, updating Bruce on Bludhaven business; Bruce, walking Dick through their current case and what was planned tonight. He was stuck doing homework for almost the whole time, under Alfred’s threat of not being able to go out unless he finished all of it. Which he didn’t, but he only has one paper left and it’s not due until next week, so Alfred took pity on him.

He's pretty sure that Alfred isn't totally approving of how Dick's… taken possession of him, but nothing's been said. Besides, it's his choice. He'd never turn down Dick, not after all of his stupid, teenage fantasies about what else Dick could do with those hands except kill, but he could have. It was clear then, and it's clear now. One real 'no,' and Dick backs off.

There are enough people hanging on the attention of _Nightingale_ ; why would Dick ever need or want to sleep with someone who wasn't willing?

Dick tilts, looking a little further over the wall. He looks bored.

"O, what's the timeline?" Dick asks carelessly, fingers pausing in their tapping. "Estimate."

_"Twenty minutes,"_ Bruce says into their ears, _"approximately. Don't go anywhere, Nightingale; this is a rare chance. If we miss it, it'll either be weeks, or a much more complicated plan."_

"He's been anticipating us coming after him," he fills in, quietly. "It's twenty minutes at the earliest; this meeting always goes for at least two hours, but sometimes it's more."

Dick smiles, reaching out and stroking the side of his face. He almost shivers, but his breath definitely catches hard enough to be noticeable, and Dick's smile sharpens a little bit. Dangerous, yeah, but that's what got him into this in the first place. Wires fucked up in his head; danger is _hot_ and Nightingale is just about the perfect representation of that. Not much scares him, but _Nightingale_ … Nightingale could scare anyone.

There's something wonderful but also terrible about knowing that Nightingale could flick a blade out and open his throat and he probably couldn't do a damn thing to stop him.

"Thanks, Little Wing," Dick says through that smile, fingers flicking his chin up as they pull away.

He flushes, and bites down on his own tongue not to react any more than that. Wrong time. Wrong place. They've got someone to watch for, and… and Dick is shifting closer, slinking beneath the height of the wall and reaching over to brace a hand on his chest and bear him down. One of his gloves scrapes across the wall, but he ends up on his back with Dick crawling over him, bigger and taller and pressing him down with one hand to the center of his chest. He breathes in sharply as Dick settles over him, one knee nudging his thighs apart.

The hand on his chest lifts, one black-gloved finger moving to press down across his lips, telling him to be silent. He shivers but doesn't speak, doesn't protest even though whatever this is it's a _terrible_ idea, and Dick's smile widens just a bit. That finger slips down, the tip hooking over his lip, nudging his teeth. He parts his mouth out of habit more than thought, and the finger pushes into his mouth to rub across his tongue and spread the taste of the armor down his throat, along with a faint metallic hint.

He closes his mouth around it and flickers his tongue against the glove on pure automatic, holding Dick's gaze as best as he can through their two masks. Dick looks pleased, and the finger stays in his mouth as he shifts up and then raises his other hand from the ground, slowly and deliberately raising a hand to disable his com.

He stares, wide-eyed, as Dick breathes, "You'll have to stay _quiet_ , Little Wing. Can you do that?"

On a rooftop, with Bruce's voice in his ear as they wait for their victim to come out? With _Nightingale_ about to do… god, whatever he's about to do? He shivers, lightly biting down on Dick's finger and then shaking his head. There's no _way_ he can stay quiet enough that Bruce doesn't hear anything.

Dick gives a soft laugh, and then the finger slips from his mouth, trailing down his cheek until it switches off _his_ com. The other hand turns Dick's back on, before two fingers slide back in over his tongue, pressing it down to pin it against the bottom of his mouth. He swallows, and Dick leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead before pulling back. He really can't do anything but lie still as Dick moves off of him, and then pulls him up off the ground. He's gathered back against Dick's chest, both of them leaning against the low wall that separates them from view of the alley.

He tilts his head back against Dick's shoulder, digging his hands into his own thighs as Dick slides his free hand down between his legs. He shudders and tightens his teeth around Dick's fingers when that hand easily undoes the very hidden and protected catches that free the armor over his crotch (sometimes, you just gotta pee without having to strip all the way down). The pads of Dick's fingers are rough when they curl around him, coaxing his half-hard cock more erect with every brush of them, every almost-painful drag along sensitive skin.

He can't help the muffled whimper that makes its way out of his throat, as he grips tighter at his own thighs so he doesn't make the stupid mistake of reaching back for Dick. Not unless invited; ever.

Dick gives a very quiet chuckle, lips brushing his temple as he gets a better grip. He's close enough that he can hear it when Dick's com comes to life, and stiffens at the voice that's deep, even through the muffled, higher-pitched tint of the com.

_"Nightingale, would you like to tell me why your coms are cutting in and out?"_

He flushes, shuddering, but Dick only laughs a bit louder. "Everything's fine, O. Little bit of trouble with the coms; Talon’s is offline, but I’ll keep an eye on him. Don’t worry about it.”

Bruce grunts, and then, voice pointed, says, _“Don’t miss the target.”_

“Not a chance,” Dick answers, a laugh in his voice. “We’ve got this.”

There’s no answer from Bruce, which means that Dick goes back to stroking at him, nose brushing against the side of his head and lips brushing his temple. Dick’s fingers curl against his tongue, hooking behind his teeth. He closes his eyes and loosens his jaw, trying to breathe slow and steady even as Dick toys with him. Lost cause, really, but… but Dick likes to make him crack. Likes it better when he makes it a challenge, he’s found. Or… more of a challenge. He’s never really tried to resist Dick; god, why would he _want_ to?

He strangles down a moan, trying not to bite the fingers between his teeth. Not that he could hurt them unless he really, honestly tried to, but still.

The hand curled around him slips away. It takes just about everything in him not to buck upwards to try and get it back, but he manages it by pressing his boots down against the rooftop, tensing up his legs and pushing against the hard surface to vent the desire to move. He rubs his hands along his thighs, and finally lets himself press back into Nightingale, against that bigger frame. That doesn't _quite_ count as touching, if he's being technical. It might count as pleading though, and Dick loves it when people beg.

"There we go," Dick murmurs. "Coms are on one way; O can get a hold of us but we're free to talk. Open your eyes, Little Wing."

He obeys; the angle his head is tilted back at means he can see most of Dick's expression, and that Dick can lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead. The fingers in his mouth uncurl, slide deeper back over his tongue, and he swallows and carefully shoves away the slight remnant of his gag reflex. Dick gives a small, pleased sound, smiling down at him.

"You do like having something in your mouth, don't you, baby?" The fingers press a little further in, knuckles pushing against his chin. This time he does choke just a little bit. "Like how it makes you feel? _Used_ , and _owned?_ "

He shivers, giving as small a nod as he can so he doesn’t disturb Dick's fingers.

"Of course you do," Dick purrs, breath hot against his cheek, lips brushing his skin. "You're such a good boy, Little Wing. So sweet for me." Dick's free arm loops around his chest, gloved fingertips dragging down to his stomach, teasing at the very edge of where his suit is pulled apart. "You know, if I get you off up here you're going to have to clean up for me. Can't leave behind any evidence. Will you do that for me, baby?"

The fingers retreat from his mouth, and he swallows, shudders. "Yes," he answers, both as the only answer he can actually imagine giving, and the one that actually does match what he thinks. _Yes_ , he's willing to 'clean up' — and that thought makes him shudder again, harder — after Dick is done with him. Of course he is.

"Good," Dick says, before pushing his jaw to the side to claim his mouth in a kiss. Teeth graze his bottom lip before Dick's tongue slides between his teeth, taking him just as thoroughly as the fingers did. He honestly can't decide which one is more possessive, but he knows that he loves them both.

He loves Dick's fingers in his mouth, keeping him silent, giving him something to suck on, to bite if he can't help it. He _also_ loves when Dick kisses him more deeply, tongue sliding into his mouth like a mimicry of being fucked, one hand inevitably holding him in place either by his jaw or by his hair as he's _taken_. Honestly, there hasn't been a single thing that Dick's pushed into his mouth that he hasn't heavily enjoyed. Fingers, tongue, on one highly memorable occasion a _blade_ that flattened his tongue and kept his mouth held open…

He moans into Dick's mouth. He can feel the curve of lips against his as Dick smiles, and the graze of those rough fingertips down his throat, to where his suit begins. That's probably good. Dick has cruel smiles, mean smiles, smiles that mean you're about to get _gutted_ , but they don't get aimed at him very often anymore. He hasn't screwed up that badly in a long time, and when Dick spars with him, or plays with him, there's always a playful edge to it. He's not the same dumb kid that he was before, back when he first took up the mantle of Talon, and Nightingale was this terrifying shadow of _death_ no matter what he was doing. Now he knows better.

Smirks are almost always safe, smiles are all about how well they match up with the rest of Dick's expression, and usually an absence of either means that you've caught him in a rare, more open moment. Those basically never happen outside of the Roost; when Dick is sure that absolutely no one but family is going to see it if he happens to be a little bit less than his normal persona. He might see it more than most other people, since Dick actually lets him stay and sleep in the same room a decent amount of the time. In the mornings, when Dick is a little slower, lazier, and more relaxed, is the softest he's ever seen the first Talon.

No one else is ever allowed to see that 'Dick' exists, behind the mask and violence of Nightingale. Nightingale _is_ what Dick becomes when he's in that suit, and even most of the time when he's outside of it. He wishes he could come across as even half that dangerous.

Dick pulls back, clasping fingers around his throat as he lingers close, lips brushing but not involving him in another kiss. He relaxes into it, ignoring — sort of — how very dangerous the fingers pressing into his neck can be. He'll give whatever is wanted of him. He just _has_ to.

"Shhhh," comes the sound, fingers squeezing for just a moment, just enough to make his breath catch. "You still have to be quiet, Little Wing. What's the mark going to think if he hears you moaning up here?" He squirms a little, not quite daring to answer against the hand on his throat. "Need something to keep you quiet, Talon?"

"Yes, sir," he breathes. Absolutely nothing has changed, and he's still entirely convinced that he's not going to be able to stay quiet by himself. Might not even be able to with Dick's help, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. "Please," he adds, for good measure.

Dick's smile, now that he can see part of it, is definitely on the safe side. "So _obedient_ ," he praises, as a thumb swipes up and underneath his chin. "Alright; I can help you."

He swallows at another squeeze of his throat, and then Dick's hand slides up and clasps over his mouth, shoving his head back and pinning it against the shoulder behind him. His jaw is held tightly closed, glove pressing against his face. It limits his breathing to just his nose too, which is not unfamiliar but definitely a little bit of a challenge. Not that that's ever stopped Dick before.

"You can always yield if you need to," Dick reminds him, mouth against his ear now. It's not explicit, but he knows that's Dick's way of telling him that if he needs to, he can tap out like he would in any spar and he'll get let go. Dick doesn't gag him often — or the equivalent — so he doesn't usually have a cause to remember that he's got a way to back out in the event that he can't actually tell Dick 'no.' Physically, that is.

Not that he would ever back out, unless he was genuinely afraid for his life, or there was something really _wrong_.

The other hand drifts that last bit lower, circling his cock again. It's not quite comfortable, not with the roughness of the glove, but god if that doesn't just make him want it more. He shoves out a breath through his nose, staring up at the blackness of the sky, since Dick didn't tell him he could close his eyes again. Better not to repeat what Dick has already corrected once, unless he wants to risk a bit of punishment. 'Punishment' is a very different thing than it was, and not always a bad thing, but Dick being _displeased_ is really what makes him want to obey rather than test the boundaries. Dick being happy with him is so much better. It _feels_ so much better.

His mouth curls underneath Dick's hand as the hand starts to stroke, the drag of it rough and almost-painful and so damn _good_. He probably can't take it if Dick gets any faster, but this slower drag is just on the edge and he has to push his feet against the roof again so he doesn't push his hips up into Dick's hand.

"I thought you might like that," Dick says, voice dropped back down into that low purr, right against his ear. "You're such a good boy for me, aren't you? You'd take anything from me, wouldn't you?"

He can't answer, but he thinks that the way his breath catches, and his thighs tremble, probably works just as well as an answer. Dick doesn't need an answer anyway; he knows. Who could ever turn down _Nightingale?_ It's bad for your health, not to mention your standing in the community. Sleeping with Nightingale is almost like… It's almost like some kind of prize. Not that he's ever heard anyone actually talking about it, but he's seen other people with marks that look a whole lot like the ones he wears when Dick's done with him. But Dick is careful to keep bruises and the marks of his teeth and nails down below the edges of his suit; other people apparently don't get that consideration.

Dick knows that he owns him. He's never even tried to deny that, not since Dick fucked him up against a wall, and then again on the mats afterward; made him bleed and scream and he _loved_ it. Not since Dick pulled him close, wrapped up in stronger, deadlier arms, and held him until he could think again. And then, in the morning, soothed every one of his scratches and bites away with the gentle pass of his mouth and fingers, and spent the whole day curled up watching movies with him. Dick is mean, and he can dish out pain with the best of them, but he's not _cruel_. Not to family, anyway.

If he didn't get off on all the pain, he's pretty sure that Dick wouldn't be giving it to him. Bites and scratches sure, but he wouldn't be pinning him down and drawing blood, biting and twisting skin between his nails until he can't take any more. He knows that, actually, because he's also spent encounters with Dick where it was so gentle, so _slow_ , that he cried for more. Dick is only gentle with the people he owns, is his working theory.

Also possessive as all hell, but he's really alright with that, all things considered.

He whines into Dick's hand, one of his hands jerking to the side, _almost_ grabbing at the thigh bracketing him before he reins it back in.

Dick laughs as he grabs at his own leg again, and comments, "That's right. No touching unless you're allowed, Little Wing. Not unless you want me bending you over on this roof and spanking you until you apologize, anyway."

He moans, eyes flickering as his back arches a little. Like that's a _negative_.

"We don't have time," Dick points out, amusement in his voice, hand steady. "You misbehave, I'm going to have to save the punishment until we're home, and I'm going to be _very_ upset you made me wait that long. That's a long time to think up how to hurt you, Little Wing. You don't want that."

He _does_ , but he doesn't want Dick mad with him, and that's the part that wins out. He wants whatever kind of pain Dick can dish out, he _wants_ those fingers carving lines into his skin, but he doesn't want Dick to hurt him because he's been bad. He wants to be hurt because he—

"So if you hold out for me," Dick murmurs, teeth grazing the shell of his ear, "and if you stay quiet and still for me as I bring you off, I'll spend that time thinking about _other_ ways to hurt you, Little Wing. Good ways. I could leave you some good marks to remember me by before I head back to Bludhaven; something to press your fingers into when you get off by yourself. _That's_ what you want, isn't it, baby?"

He does his _very_ best to make a sound through the press of Dick's hand that sounds like agreement. He shivers, squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and tries to strangle any other sounds before they can make it up his throat.

Dick tightens his grip just a fraction, in both places, and his eyes flicker again. His chest heaves as he tries to get enough air in through just his nose, and mostly he succeeds. The hand pressed over his face almost feels tight enough to bruise, and just the thought of wearing finger-shaped bruises across his jaw is enough to threaten his control with another moan. He drags it down to just a small whimper, almost entirely lost behind Dick's gloved hand. Whether it's coincidence or a reminder he doesn't know, but Dick nips at his ear hard enough to sting and it makes him flinch.

He can feel desire burning in his stomach, coiling tight at the base of his spine. He swallows as hard as he can, staring upwards but not even really seeing the sky anymore. All of his attention is on the sensations across his body. The slight dull ache in his thighs from how hard he's gripping them, the heat of Dick's breath against his throat and ear, the too-good wrap of the gloved hand around him, and a dozen other little things that are all contributing towards him getting worked up way too high, way too fast.

Not a surprise; Dick does that to him.

He whines again as he throbs, coming _so close_ for a moment before it eases back down. He's… He just needs—

"Come on, Little Wing," Dick whispers. "I want to watch you lick it off my fingers after you come. All hazy and obedient for me." He trembles, arching and trying not to make any noise louder than the strangled, muffled moans he can't begin to help. Dick bites at the shell of his ear again, and orders, " _Come_."

The hand around him squeezes, drags up, and that does it. He chokes a little bit, eyes fluttering shut, hips stuttering upwards as the coil in his stomach comes loose and he shakes through it. It wipes out his mind for a couple moments, and by the time he goes limp against Dick's chest he's only barely starting to think again.

It's easier to drift though, so he just lies still and breathes as Dick's hand slides away from his mouth. The other one pulls away from his cock, and he shivers a little bit but slowly reminds himself not to move. His hands rest easier against his thighs now, but he also has to keep himself from reaching up to hold Dick closer, to press against him. He's learned he gets very touch-oriented whenever he's floating a bit.

"Head up, Little Wing," Dick murmurs against his neck. He obeys, helped by the guiding touch of one hand in his hair. When he opens his eyes the other hand is in front of him, and he shivers a bit at what he knows he's supposed to be doing.

Before Dick can prompt him he shifts forward, licking his way up the palm of the glove to clean it off. The hand in his hair spreads out, cupping the back of his head to support it, as a mouth presses against his throat. It doesn’t do anything but brush lips against him as he works to remove the evidence of his own release from the glove. The taste is familiar enough it doesn’t even pause him; Dick’s got as much of a thing for putting things in his mouth as he does for having them there.

When it’s clean Dick draws him back by his hair, pulling him into a kiss. He gives a soft moan into it, and Dick nips at his bottom lip when he withdraws, before murmuring, “That was very good, Little Wing.”

He tilts back into Dick’s hand, offering himself with a sigh, which is about as eloquent as he can manage right now. It’s enough to get him a slightly wider smile. Dick lays his head back on his shoulder, and then lowers both hands to his suit. He relaxes, letting Dick secure it back in place to cover him again. Gloved hands sweep up his sides, and one lifts to his ear. He hears the com crackle back to life in his ear, a moment before that arm wraps around his chest.

Dick shifts, reactivating his own com, and then says, “Talon’s back online, O. Just a disruption; I’ll take a look at the systems later.”

He swallows, turning his head to look up at Dick.

_“Yes. I’m sure,”_ Bruce says in both their ears, voice dry and unconvinced.

He flushes, and Dick smiles down at him and shifts him up, back against the low wall. He takes in a deep breath, steadying himself as Dick mouths, _‘Later,’_ at him, and then looks over the edge of the wall. He gathers himself together, pulling out of the haze and then turning to look over the wall as well.

It only takes a few minutes before Dick’s smile slips to something sharp and vicious, and a hand reaches over and pushes him down behind the wall. “Target’s here. We ready?”

_“Go.”_

He watches as Dick lifts and drops over the side in the span of a moment, dropping down into the alley. He follows a little bit slower, hearing the cries of alarm before he drops over the side, and coming down to watch Dick slide in among the target and the bodyguards surrounding him. Knives already out, smiling, one throat cut and another man with legs swept out from under him in the span of a moment. He moves forward as Dick kicks the target back against the wall and then follows, and he dives in to slit the last bodyguard’s throat with his claws while he’s still distracted by Dick. He flings out a knife the next moment, into the winded but not actually injured man’s throat. It sticks low, and he strides over and yanks it out again, to let the blood flow free and speed his death.

“Well hello there,” he hears Dick purr, and he glances up, but then returns his gaze to the dying bodyguards to make sure none of them get the balls together to try and do anything with the guns still holstered below their jackets.

The heavy thud of booted feet to the ground makes him glance up again, just long enough to confirm that it’s Bruce dropping down, cape flared out around him as he straightens up from the crouch. The man Dick is holding makes a terrified, pleading sound, and he can’t help how he gives a small grin. He knows that Dick is smiling too, one of his nastier ones, one of the ones that should make any sane person run the other direction.

Bruce moves forward, and he circles around so he can watch that, and still keep an eye on his charges. Dick moves back, letting Bruce wrap a gauntleted hand in the target’s shirt and shove him back against the wall. Dick moves to stand by him instead, hand touching the center of his back.

Bruce gives a small, sharp smile. “We have some things to discuss.”


End file.
